


Grindr With Me

by xxdeejadoodlexx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Bottom!Stiles, Breeding, Knotting, M/M, Rimming, Top!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxdeejadoodlexx/pseuds/xxdeejadoodlexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles isn't gay-- he's just...curious? So when he downloads a gay-dating app on his phone, it's strictly for research purposes.</p><p>Except when he's trading inappropriate pics with a random dude who has the best set of abs he's ever seen, it seems a lot less like research and a lot more like horny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Grindr in no way belongs to me. It's made by some random, horny gay dude.

Okay, so...let’s talk about Grindr. This little, unassuming app for your smartphone that Stiles may or may-not-have sought out for the sole reason of...research.

The app is a geo-based dating service, but it caters to a specific kind of people. Namely...guys.

_Gay_ guys.

It’s not like, Stiles is _gay,_ he just has an insatiable curiosity and an unquenchable need to understand and learn about anything and everything regardless of its origin. So going on this app has nothing, _nothing_ to do with the copious amounts of guy-on-guy porn that have slowly been integrated into his regularly visited ‘Stiles Private Time’ folder.

Nope. Nada. Nein. Never. No. 

So, Stiles stares at his phone, watching the installation bar slowly fill with a guilty expression and a nervous demeanor. Thankfully, he’s in his room and it’s just about midnight. He hopes that means that there won’t be any werewolf related issues tonight. Still, you can’t ever be too careful, right? He’s made sure to lock his door and his window. At one point, he was debating on nailing it shut, but he’s sure if any of the mutts really wanted to get in, they’d just rip the whole window off with super strength or something. Plus, he’s not sure how it’d look to his dad if he ever saw his son’s window littered with nails.

Stiles shakes his head, ridding himself of his thoughts and looks down to his phone to see that the app is finished installing. He bites his bottom lip. It’s not that he’s afraid of the app, per se, but more so the fact of what it might mean if he _does_ enjoy the app. Not that being into dudes is a bad thing. Stiles is totally into equal rights. Free love. Do what you want. But he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t some sort of sexuality crisis. For the longest time Stiles has only had eyes for the perfectly perfect Lydia Martin, but after Jackson’s over-dramatic transformation into Wolfihood, Stiles has sorta unconsciously accepted that Lydia and he will probably never be a thing.

Even if Jackson hadn’t turned into a Werewolf and stayed a freakish, lizard creature, Lydia had always loved that douchebag. Even when they had their falling out, Stiles remembered the feeling of hope so bright that it was practically shining out of his ass. Lydia was single. Jackson didn’t want her. She was free game and all Stiles had to do was show her how amazing he was. Only, Lydia was so obviously not interested in him it was like being kicked in the gut and stabbed in the chest.

So yeah, Stiles has resigned to his fate of living a life without Miss Martin. Tish tosh. It’s all in the past. On to bigger and better things. And as it so happens, bigger and better just might be a member of the male gender.

It’s not that Stiles has never been curious. Sure, he’s noticed guys’ physiques. Tough muscles, masculine characteristics, dominating demeanors. Just look at Danny. Stiles might have a long subdued crush on the dude. He was so painfully attractive. His darkly, tanned skin. His powerful body; strong corded arms thick with muscle and a chest so bulging with abs it’s basically sinful. Then there was his shining smile, his deep brown eyes and his beautifully sculpted face. Stiles had asked the dude more than once if Danny thought that he was attractive to gay guys. Danny was always dismissive about it, but Stiles sorta liked to think that his own slightly lanky body and so awesomely awesome personality would be a total catch to some hunky gay dude.

But it wasn’t until after Jackson’s transformation and Lydia’s confession of eternal love for said douchey-douchedouche that Stiles actually took off the blinders and looked around himself and yeah...checkin’ out guys made Stiles feel all funny in the pants.

So here he is. After a week of slowly jerking off to more and more gay porn than straight, he’s scoured the app marketplace for a gay dating app and this one was the most popular. So he tapped the download button and now he’s staring at a yellow icon with a black symbol at its center. He taps the button and the app launches and he holds his breath. He’s met with the loading screen, a message displayed below the apps icon.

**_Get Ready To Grindr_ **

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. Gay dudes really don’t beat around the bush, do they? Everything is so sexually suggestive. Not that Stiles is complaining. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to get nakedly acquainted with some willing participant of the same sex.

He’s suddenly presented with a grid of pictures on rows of four. Each one with with a username. Stiles instantly notices that most of the guys are definitely into posting chest pics with a purposeful lack of face. The users are ordered based on distance from his current location. That’s sorta handy.

Stiles scrolls down a bit, checking out what Beacon Hills has to offer. Most people he doesn’t recognize. Not that he’s meant to, seeing as how he’s basically looking at a collage of abs. There are a select few of guys that have posted a pic of their face, but Stiles quickly deduces that those are the men that are either are a bit heavier in stature or older than forty. 

Suddenly Stiles freezes. His eyes land on Danny’s display picture and he nearly freaks. A little green dot in the corner of his grid picture shows that he’s online, too. Stiles quickly clicks on his grid picture looking for some sort of option to block users. He’s presented with a small profile bio and a larger picture of his classmate. Beside the bio is the block and favorite button. Stiles’ finger hovers of the red ‘X’ meant to block, but abruptly stills. He remembers that he hasn’t set up his own profile yet; devoid of a picture, username and profile info. Surely Danny wouldn’t know the blank profile belonged to Stiles. So...he slowly lets his finger move away from the icon and he favorites Danny instead. Backing out of the profile to scour more hot abs.

He’s about a hundred and ninety-four users in when a set of deliciously perfectly set of abs catch his eye. Stiles felt that there was something so eerily familiar about them. That is why he clicked on the profile before he could think better of it. The user name is a simple ‘sw’. Lower-case and cryptic. The green orb on the profile tells Stiles that this set of abs is online and ready to mingle. He looks to the profile bio. It’s one word: ‘looking’.

Looking? What the hell is that suppos-- _Oh._ Stiles’ brain pieces it together fairly quickly.

Looking for some sexytimes.

Stiles is suddenly very much more aware and very, _very_ much more interested in these tasty abs. Abs that are _looking._

Stiles gulps, and clicks on the message icon, bringing up his keyboard to a simple chat screen, but then he freezes. What are you supposed to say to this? Stiles has never hooked up before. Hell, he hasn’t even _kissed_ anyone yet. Also, it was so painfully obvious he wasn’t good with the whole flirting thing. Or at least, all his attempts in the past have ended pretty horribly.

After a few moments of debating with himself he decides that a simple greeting should suffice. It’s proper. It’s initiating. It gives way to conversations and conversations can lead to confessions of interest and confessions of interest could lead to perfectly chiseled abs pressed to his skinny, hormonal, teenage body. The thought has Stiles a little hard so hell yeah he types out three letters and presses ‘send’. 

**Sup**

That looks a little impersonal now that Stiles has sent it. But then again, aren't these things supposed to be completely impersonal? A simple ‘Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Sir’ sort of dealings? Stiles shrugs to himself and waits for a reply. When one doesn’t come within the following five minutes he becomes a little discouraged and then he’s finding himself bored. So he leaves the chat and starts to fix up his profile.

He’s pretty scarce about everything. Mostly because no one is supposed to know that Stiles is secretly into manmeat quite yet. His profile says he likes video games and comics and that’s pretty much that all needs to be said. His username, however was a little bold. Bold as in horribly _ironic_. Maybe he should feel bad about it, but he really, really doesn’t. Because it’s actually really fucking hilarious given that his life circles around Werewolves. So yeah, Stiles has decided to go by ‘Little Red’ on this here gay scouting app.

Last thing he needed to do was add a picture. This part has Stiles feeling a little apprehensive. Mostly because he definitely can _not_ upload anything with his face. Not yet, anyway. Not until he has sorted out whatever homo-bug bit him that has him slowly craving dick in all the wrong (right) places.

He remembers earlier when he was scrolling down through the many dudes of Beacon Hills that are getting busy with other dudes. How most had posted body pictures rather than faces. So...Stiles was debating on whether or not to do that. Before he knew it, he was in his bathroom across the hall. He was super ninja-like so as to not wake up his dad. He turned on the light and met his reflection; hand reaching to the door knob to lock it. He looked at himself for a moment, then shimmied out of his pajama bottoms then tore off his shirt. He frowned at himself. 

He definitely wasn’t super built like the many other guys on the Grindr app. He was having a serious inferiority complex at the moment. He then remembered seeing many scrawny and lanky ‘twink’ guys posting pics of their slender bodies, too. Stiles wasn’t oblivious to how gay stuff worked. He beat off to enough porn to know that there were a lot of more masculine gay dudes that were super into the whole ‘twinky-slim-boy-next-door’ body. The type of body that, to much of Stiles’ dismay, he himself had. His body was tight, yes. But there wasn’t any prominent, bulging muscles. Just a lean and slender build. His pale skin and random moles speckled across his flesh, though. That made him feel even more self conscious.

However, that didn’t stop him from grabbing his phone, opening the camera app and snapping a picture of himself. He looked at the resulting image through the tiny screen of his phone and decided it was _whatever_. His mind lingered on the fact that he was wearing unusually tight red underwear, but it was only for the fleetest of moments. A part of him thought that it would be all the more fitting in some fucked up way. Little Red in his little red undies. Ha.

Ha. Ha.

Hahahaha.

Stiles cropped out his face and uploaded the picture as he made his way back to his room. He closed and locked the door quietly and plopped down on the bed. A few moments later his phone chimed with a notification. He opened Grindr and his eyes went wide. Apparently, fixing up a profile was a good idea. He had sixteen new messages from twelve dudes. But Stiles ignored all that. Because ‘sw’ was one of the people that had messaged him.

Stiles opened the chat, excitedly looking at the reply.

**[SW: you looking?]**

Oh _fuck yes_ he’s looking. Looking for those deliciously perfect abs all up on his face. Stiles is replying before he knows what’s good for him.

**[Little Red: Sure.]**

Maybe that could have been a bit more...he doesn’t know. Enthusiastic sounding? In his mind he’s screaming at the top of his lungs ‘ _yes, yes take me now. taaaake meeee’_ but his fingers reply with a “sure”? What the fuck body. You seriously need to collaborate better. Stiles doesn’t have time to further chastise himself, because Lickworthy Abs has responded.

**[SW: Any other pics?]**

That has Stiles freezing up again. He hasn’t really had the need to take pics of himself in the kind of way he’s assuming ‘sw’ is inquiring about. The most of himself he has is him doing awkwardly stupid and childish things that he still snickers at because yeah, that shit was funny.

Stiles bites at his bottom lip and begins to type his reply.

**[Little Red: Yeah. You?]**

A few seconds after its sent, ‘sw’ has sent him three pictures. The first was his abs again, looking so, super fucking perfect. Delicious. So, so delicious Stiles is salivating.

The other two have him gaping.

The second was taken in a mirror, the man’s face is hidden by the phone and the flash that Stiles thinks was implemented on purpose to conceal his identity. But Stiles isn’t paying much attention to his face, because while one hand is holding up the phone, the other is reaching down to hold on the massive...he repeats, _massive_ outline in ‘sw’s sinfully tight, black briefs. There really isn’t much of a reason to even be wearing them, Stiles thinks. He can see everything almost so clearly. And holy _shit_. That is the fucking Kraken. A mothafucking Anaconda.

Okay, okay. It’s not freakishly huge, but still. If that were to go into the places Stiles wants them to go, he’s almost positive that it was going to be an extremely painful process, ‘cause that was porn worthy cocksize right there.

If the second picture had him gaping, the third had his mind on the verge of implosion.

The last picture is in the same bathroom, camera situated in the same manner, hiding ‘sw’s face, only...while his other hand is reaching down just like the seconds picture, there is a distinct lack of underwear and _oh god_ Stiles is so painfully hard right now. ‘sw’s hand is covering himself, his hand’s obscenely big fingers cupping and successfully hiding his dick. But _dear sweet baby jeebus_. Stiles’ eyes are instantly drawn to the way his muscles are flexed. The dark patch of hair above his groin. The hair on his built and powerful thighs.

_Oh fuck._

Stiles is so, so gay right now. He’s so gay he doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with himself.

The sound of another notification tugs Stiles out of his existential crisis. He scrolls down to see another message from ‘sw’.

**[SW: your turn]**

Oh, um...right. Yeah. Stiles owes this guy some pictures. Equally sexual in nature, he suspects. Right? Stiles is short circuiting. He’s never done this before. He doesn’t know the rules of trading pictures and on top of that, his brain has just been fried to nothingness from the sheer amount of sexy that is ‘sw’. 

He absolves himself from his stupor and decides to ask. Because, despite the fact that he wants to look cool or whatever, he really, really doesn’t want to send the wrong kind of pictures and look like a complete imbecile.

**[Little Red: What kind of pics do you want? Like, do you want me to send you ones like the ones you sent me? Same poses? Same order?]**

A minute passes and Stiles is thinking that maybe he ended up making himself look like an idiot anyways. The familiar notification sound has him rushing back to his conversation with ‘sw’.

**[SW: ass is what i want to see.]**  

Stiles...Stiles just sorta sits there for a moment to collect his thoughts, because apparently ‘sw’ wants to see his ass. An ass that ‘sw’ might want to plow into later and _fuck yes. Yes yes yes._

Stiles is flailing off his bed and jogging for the bathroom as fast as he can.

He’s locking the door and stripping until he’s naked and staring at himself in the mirror again. He’s half hard with thoughts of ‘sw’ and the pictures he got from him earlier. He turns to the side, observing the way his back curves in an almost graceful way before bowing back where it meets his bottom. Speaking of butts, Stiles has never really looked at his before and not to be too cocky, but he’s thinking it kinda looks super fucking bangable. It’s all plump and round from the copious amounts of fast food he seems to eat, but at the same time its firm and bubbly thanks to lacrosse and running around, flailing for his life in the woods during the shenanigans he and the pack get into.

All in all, it’s a pretty nice ass.

Freakishly smooth, though. Stiles isn’t quite sure why he doesn’t have hair there. He doesn’t trim or shave. He only keeps his man-bush in check. He shrugs, still sideways, he grabs for his phone and takes a shot; one hand cupping his now soft dick, hiding it. There needs to be _some_ mystery.

If he curves his back a little more than necessary, thus jutting out his ass a little more obscenely, you can hardly blame him. He’s trying to make a good impression.

The second, he turns all the way around, opposite to the mirror. He brings the phone up over his shoulder and shoots a couple pics, hoping the angle is right. He settles on one that captures the beauty of his ass to his impeccable standards.

The third picture he takes from high up. His hand covers his dick, the phone capturing his body at an angle that can only be described as the ‘MySpace Pose’. He’s shameless.

After he’s satisfied, he sits on the edge of the tub. He crops out his face and sends them to ‘sw’.

He feels nervous all of a sudden. Now that his horny-high has subsided and his brain is thinking more about what’s actually happening than imagining himself being pounded into the mattress by ‘sw’s massive cock, he feels extremely exposed. He realizes now that ‘sw’ didn’t even technically send him anything ‘nude’. At least not in the way Stiles just sent him. He wonders if this makes him seem easy. Like some sort of sleezy, loose slut. Someone who easily gives away pictures of themselves in hopes that they’ll end up in bed with a total stranger.

Which...isn’t that what Stiles is doing?

Now Stiles feels super wrong and dirty. Seriously! What the hell is he doing on here? First he’s just checking shit out and now an hour later he’s swapping pics with the hottest body he’s ever seen in the history of _ever_. In hopes that maybe, what? He’ll be invited over for sex? Is this what Stiles is all about now? For the longest time Stiles had always imagined his first time being all magical and slow and passionate and sickly romantic. There weren’t many times he imagined it being dirty and and impersonal. Not to say that those fantasies didn’t exist. Those were usually the hottest, but that didn’t change the fact that he was sappy and wanted his first time to _mean_ something. A quick get-off with a total stranger isn’t romantic or magical. But that’s exactly what’s happening here. He’s setting himself up for...for...a hookup. A casual exchange of bodily fluids and pleasure.

The sound of ‘sw’ replying stole his attention.

**[SW: fuck. i want to tear into that ass.]**

Stiles is suddenly hard again. Screw morals.

**[SW: you travel?]**

Travel? Stiles thinks that maybe this guy is asking if he wants to come over. He hopes he’s asking. Because yes. Yes, yes yes a million times _yes_ Stiles wants to go over. So his fingers rush along the touchscreen, replying with:

**[Little Red: Address?]**

And that is how Stiles ended up here, in some sketchy part of town. Parking in front of some wrecked sort of apartment-community-looking thing. He takes a moment to let it all sink in; letting the realization of what is happening really wash over him. His palms are sweaty and his heart is pounding so loud it feels as if it’s crashing against his head. He swallows and breathes out a shaky exhale.

“Alright, Stiles. This is it. You’re gonna go in there and be sexy and this dude is gonna be all over you and it’s gonna lead to touching, and maybe kissing and then nakedness and eventually...oh fuck. Holy shit this is happening. This is actually fucking happening.”

Licking his lips and gathering the last remnants of his courage, he leaves his jeep and heads towards the the staircase that leads up to the apartment that belongs to 'sw'. However, standing before the door that separated him from a stranger all too willing to deflower his rose, he swallows hard and brings his hand to hover over the wooden surface. He lets it linger a moment, internally conflicted with his situation. But before his fist could even hit the door, it swings open and the sight he's met with literally has him gaping.

Derek is standing in the open entrance, and apparently allergic to proper attire since he's scowling in only a pair of gym shorts. Stiles chokes, mind suddenly feeling like its imploding, because no way. No fucking way this is the right address. No fucking way in fuck that this is the same stranger he was swapping pictures with just a half an hour before. Derek just huffs out an aggravated breath, looking dangerous levels of 'not-dealing-with-you-right-now'.

"Stiles" The Alpha grits out, "What the hell are you doing here and how do you know I live here?"

Stiles wants to respond, but he can't think. He literally can't breath right now and he pretty sure the universe hates him. It hates him so damn much and he’s almost positive its laughing it's ass off. So fucking pleased that Stiles has inadvertently orchestrated a hook-up with Derek Fucking Hale. But he's a dumbass if he thinks that his mouth needs to utilize his brain to utter words. Before he can stop himself, he's gasping out:

"Holy fuck! You're SW?!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my plotline changed and I ended up adding _feelings_. So, this has been extended to 3 chapters. Oops?

The moment the words are out of Stiles’ mouth, it’s like everything stopped. Derek’s face practically collapses, giving way to a terrified expression and neither of them move for an undetermined amount of time.

It’s like being suspended in air, and then you’re suddenly falling. Your stomach feels all light and airy and your heart is hammering, because you know that eventually you’re gonna hit the ground. And really, everyone knows what happens when you hit the floor from an insane distance. You fucking splat like a pancake and die.

Then Derek’s face hardens, donning a menacing scowl before he’s reaching out and dragging Stiles into his creepy wolf-den apartment. In a flash, the door is slammed shut and Stiles is pushed up against a wall.

“Well, this is certainly familiar” Stiles says while clearing his throat, “I’m glad we’re past all the awkwardness that is my life. So if you’d just let me go, I’ll leave and we can just pretend this never happe-- Oh my God! What are you--” 

“Shut up.” Derek says as he reaches into Stiles’ pockets, and that’s when he begins to realize that Derek is close. Really, very, close. How he has his hands on Stiles’ thighs with just a thin sliver of fabric, separating his insanely, hot and firm fingers from sliding across Stiles’ flesh. It was thoughts like these that seem to plague Stiles in the most inappropriate of times.

Before he can begin a dutiful protest, Stiles is watching Derek pull his cell phone from his back pocket. Stiles wants to reach out and take it from him, but he’s still being pinned to the wall, so...he guesses he’ll just chill right there. Derek unlocks the phone and tenses. His finger hovers over the little yellow Grindr icon. Abruptly, Stiles is aware of that trepidation again. Like the air is too hot to breathe and you’re trying too hard not to make a sound when really, everything is just noticeably louder. Then Derek hits the icon.

It seems like a millenia passes while what he assumes is technically just the five seconds it takes for the app the launch. Then Derek groans, chucking the phone somewhere in his small living room.

“What the fuck Stiles! Seriously? What the hell are you doing on a dating app? And for fucks sake, you’re not even _legal_!” Derek is yelling and Stiles instantly feels himself become defensive.  

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t fucking know! It was stupid, I know that. Fucking Christ, can you let me down?” That’s when Derek must have noticed how close he was, still pining the boy to the wall. Pulling his arm from Stiles’ body, he slowly takes a step back out of his space. Stiles sighs, long and weary and cards a hand through his hair. Remarkably, he deflates, feeling drained and abnormally sullen.

“Look, I’m having like...” He stops and and huffs out another breath, “I think I might be into dudes.” He’s not quite sure why he’s confiding in Derek. He hasn’t even seen him since the night they all fought Gerard at that warehouse. Even before then, they’ve never been anything you could comfortably call _friends_ , but Stiles couldn’t deny that Derek was there for him when he needed him. And the same went for Derek when he needed Stiles. 

Derek is still silent though, his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. Stiles notices then that he’s still standing there wearing nothing but basketball shorts, which reminds him precisely _why_ he was most likely in that state of undress. 

It was because Stiles-- no, _Little Red_ was on his way over. 

His brain eventually tumbles back to how he got into this mess. How some innocent intentions and an insatiable curiosity led to an exchange of nude pictures, and the offer of a hook up. Still, thoughts of ‘sw’s-- no _Derek’s_ pictures left Stiles feeling increasingly hot as his body spiked uncontrollably with sudden salacious desire.

He licks his lips, promptly aware that his eyes have been lingering on Derek’s naked flesh far longer than what he would deem appropriate. He looks up slowly, meeting the man’s knowing glare. Derek raises a brow, looking too smug for his own good; like he knows that Stiles is interested, and how could he not? Despite how fucked up this situation might be, it didn’t change the fact that Stiles was-- _is_ interested. That he had inadvertently sent Derek pictures of himself. Pictures that Derek had specified he wanted. The resulting consensus being that he wanted to _fuck_. 

Stiles doesn’t even know what to do right now. His hormones are suddenly on the fritz while his mind is screaming at him to leave and never see Derek again. It has him conflicted in the most frightening, yet exciting of ways. However, a deeper part of him still can’t help but imagine Derek’s body pressed up against him, pushing him into the wall; hands burning hot into his skin like both a promise and a claim. He wants to know what it would feel like if Derek trailed his claws across his flesh. How it would feel if he grazed his fangs along the curve of Stiles’ neck. To maybe have Derek turn him around and slam him into the wall face first; to feel him grind his hips hard and rough, into the jut of Stiles' ass.

Derek makes a deep noise, it resonates in a way that could only be described as a growl. Stiles pulls from his haze to focus on Derek whose eyes are dangerously red and is visibly flaring his nostrils. Derek's glare is lecherous, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. It makes his skin crawl and his heart pound heavy in his chest, because Derek isn't looking at him like he had all those times in the past; like he’s some annoying little shit, berating him with harsh humor and dry wit. He's looking at Stiles like he's good enough to _eat_.

The surprise must show on Stiles face, because Derek is suddenly crossing his arms over his chest, pointedly looking away and clearing his throat.

“Is that...such a bad thing?” Derek finally answers. Stiles begins to open his mouth, automatically searching for a defensive rebuttal, but he falters, thinking once again about their situation. Derek is on the app, and of course that would mean that he isn’t against some male persuasion. The thought had never crossed Stiles’ mind before. Although Stiles was more than against stereotyping the homosexual lifestyle, he just didn’t peg Derek as ‘rollin’ with the bros’ sort to speak.

Clearing his thoughts, Stiles realizes that maybe he might have offended Derek in a way that he really didn’t intend to.

“No. I mean, not for you or anyone. I just...fuck Derek. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I really don’t. This is fucking embarrassing and I’m--” He stops, biting his bottom lip. “I’m just confused.”

Dereks sighs, giving Stiles a pitying look before uncrossing his arms and motioning towards the living area. It takes Stiles a moment to understand the gesture, but reluctantly begins his tread towards the couch. Derek follows after him, veering off into the small kitchen to the left-- a short breakfast bar gives a clear view to the living room.

Stiles falls back onto the dark, leather sectional. It’s nice, he thinks randomly, looking around Derek’s secret apartment. A dark wooden coffee table separates the sectional from the modest entertainment center; a sizable flat screen TV on its surface. Beside it, Stiles notices a PlayStation 3. That has his mind crumbling into oblivion, because seriously? Derek and video games? This definitely isn’t reality.

Derek pats around in the kitchen a few more moments before rounding the bar with two beers in hand. He pops the cap off one and hands it to Stiles who eyes the drink suspiciously.

“Um...you do know that I’m only sixteen, right? And my dad is the Sheriff? You’re pretty much asking for jail time, buddy.” Derek merely raises a brow before responding.

“You do realize that you were on a dating app that requires you to be at least eighteen and you went to a complete stranger's house to get laid?”

Stiles feels embarrassed and maybe even ashamed for a moment, because yeah. He sorta, maybe did all that, but he was on a mission for the truth. The truth of sexuality and the exploration of the male physique. He thinks that maybe that’s really not a good enough justification, though. Which means that Derek is right, and by principle, that sorta makes Stiles mad.

“Yeah, well...didn’t seem to bother you at the time.” He says while taking the offered beverage. Derek just sighs, taking a seat on the sofa a comfortable distance away from Stiles. The preceding minutes are filled with an unpleasant silence. The air around them seems dry and heavy.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of...if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s normal to be curious” Derek says finally. It surprises Stiles a little, because he realizes that Derek is actually trying to be supportive in his own nonchalant way. The notion has Stiles feeling strangely raw. He didn’t think, that of all the people he knew, that Derek would be understanding. Which is why he decides to divulge more of himself than he normally would.

“Thing is, I think I always kinda knew, ya know? Like, there were signs but I was just so fixated on Lydia that I didn’t really read into it, but after Jackson...” He trails off, looking down at his fidgeting hands. He thinks that Derek knows what he's feeling. That he probably stinks of grief and sorrow and bitter resentment. It makes him feel pathetic and exposed. It’s not something he wants to feel like in front of someone like Derek. An Alpha werewolf with the confidence and strength to do things that Stiles only wishes he was capable of doing. Someone who is so sure of themselves; of who they are.

Stiles subconsciously curls into himself, trying to appear smaller than he really is. Possibly to convey how he’s feeling; like some little, defenseless animal. He notices Derek’s hand flinch, moving slightly toward him, but stops to rest on the couch instead. And maybe that’s what gave Stiles the confidence to continue? The implication that Derek appeared to want to comfort him. Letting him know that it was okay for Stiles to voice himself and his concerns.

“But anyway, I’m moving past all that and when I started noticing guys more, I just--” He chuckles to himself. “You know me, diving in head first without thinking shit through.”

Derek huffs a laugh, because yes, it’s definitely a Stiles thing to do. Anyone that knows him would tell you that Stiles is as impatient and anxious as they come. 

They sit in silence a bit more, nursing their beers slowly. Though, Stiles notices more than once Derek’s eyes follow the motion of his lips covering the rim of his bottle. He tries not to read too much into that, because its making his gut feel as if a searing, hot wire is coiling its way up his spine. Soon, Stiles is growing restless with the new silence that is filling the air around them. 

“I just want to know, like...am I? You know...gay? Or maybe Bi? Not that there needs to be labels or anything...I just want some clarification.” Derek nods in agreement. It dawns on Stiles that Derek would indeed understand his dilemma. That at one point maybe he went through this ridiculous uncertainty of his sexuality. The realization has him asking Derek a question he isn’t quite sure he’s allowed to ask.

“How did you-- you know... _know_?” Stiles voices tentatively. Derek just shrugs, like the question wasn’t in any way offensive. That has Stiles’ body releasing the sudden tension he only just noticed had taken over.  

“It doesn’t really matter to me. I like what I like, I’ve always known, I guess.” He confesses, but Stiles just keeps looking at him like he needs to understand more. Derek must have caught on because he sighs, putting his bottle on the coffee table before continuing.

“When Laura and I moved to New York-- It’s different up there. No one really cares about stuff like who’s sleeping with who. Besides, Laura was always sort of wild. She’d drag me around to all these really dumb clubs, and I guess it was her way of coping with everything. Clubs are loud, and there are too many people; too many scents. It overwhelms you.” He stops, looking down at his hands, letting out a long exhale.

“So we’d go almost every night. I just went with it, saw this guy one time, took him home and...” He shrugs again, like it was that easy.

“It was good and that did it for me. I was curious before then, but after confirming it, I guess I just do whatever I’m feeling at the time now.” Stiles can’t help but laugh, because really? Derek actually told him something that was personal, and it shouldn’t be all that strange, but watching his mouth move and form exaggerated, coherent sentences just seemed so ridiculous to Stiles.

“Sorry” He says, still chuckling lightly. “It’s just, wow man, I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in the history of ever.” He finishes with a smile. Derek just grins, clearly understanding Stiles need to provide humor at least every five minutes. The sight of Derek’s lip curling up playfully, feels like a punch to the chest. Knowing that he did that. To know that the grin Derek is sporting so freely is just for him, it clutches at his insides in a way that shouldn’t feel this bittersweet.

“Shut up” Derek says, though it’s said more in fondness; with a gentleness foreign to what Stiles usually associates with Derek.

The conversation trails off, leaving them with nothing but a cold, awkward silence. Stiles brings his beer to his lips, only to realize that the drink is spent. Derek seems to notice, his gaze already fixated on where the bottle meets Stiles’ mouth. 

“You want another?” He asks casually, if not a little hopefully. Stiles mulls it over for a moment. He knows he has to go home eventually, and the possibility of being pulled over drunk or crashing isn’t enticing.

“I have to drive home soon. I don’t really think a car accident is what I need right now.” Stiles finally says, frivolously. Derek shrugs, and really? This dude is always shrugging.

“I could drive you home later? Or you could crash here, its fine.” Stiles looks at Derek suspiciously, because, um...that is oddly chivalrous of him.

“You’re being nice. I don’t know how to handle this. You’re never nice, especially not to me.” It’s out of Stiles’ mouth before he can think better of it. His eyes are narrowing on Derek as if to accentuate his suspicion. Derek scowls, looking at Stiles like he’s dumb.

“I’m always nice.” He says gruffly. That has Stiles chuckling.

“Yeah right, dude. You throw me against shit all the time, and when I try to help you, you give me the death stare and ignore me.” Though it was said flippantly, Derek’s face sports a guilty expression. Perplexed, Stiles doesn’t like the fact that he was the reason for that self-condemning look. Troubling enough, he wonders wistfully when he started to berate himself for making Derek feel bad. Stiles isn’t sure he likes the significance of this discovery.

“You’re human, Stiles. I’m not--” Derek trails off looking strained. “I’m not good with Humans. The last time I trusted them, my whole family payed with their lives.” He looks so plagued; so vulnerable and breakable. Stiles shifts a little closer, and without thinking of the repercussions, rests his hand on Derek’s. He’s not sure what he’s trying to do. Comfort, perhaps? Alleviate the burden that seems to sit so heavily on Derek’s shoulders? All he knows is his body instinctively needs to convey that he’s there. That he’s not going anywhere; he’s not going to judge him.

Derek flinches, looking down at where Stiles’s hand is placed almost tenderly on his own before raising his head to stare at Stiles. His eyes filled with bewilderment and admiration. That alone is giving Stiles the courage to find his voice.

“Hey man. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, there’s no doubting that. I admit I sorta hated you when all this wolfy crap started, but now...Now I see that you’re a pretty decent guy who’s just trying to do the right thing and even if Scott doesn’t really trust you, well...” He stops, looking away for a moment, suddenly feeling shy. He doesn’t understand why, but telling Derek this makes him feel fragile. He steels himself, before turning to meet Derek’s eyes with an unfaltering gaze.

“I trust you. Even if you don’t believe me, I’m telling you anyways. I trust you, man.” Once the words have left his mouth, he’s met with confliction. His body feels lighter, but at the same time, it’s heavy with trepidation. Worried that maybe his assurance would be taken in negativeness.

But Derek looks absolutely gutted, his face, open and unrestrained. That moment gives Stiles a glimpse at the man on the inside. He’s seeing a teenager from six years ago that watched his family burn. The lost little boy who had to encase himself in armor and build walls of stone around himself out of fear of losing anything else. The same child who’s more alone and unsure of himself than Stiles could have ever imagined. In that singular moment, Stiles knows with a starling certainty that the words he just uttered weren’t just simple declarations. It was a promise of something far more intricate.

Stiles’ eyes are locked with the intention to assert that, yes, no matter what the hell is going on, he’ll be there if Derek needed him. The moment lingers, as they stare into one another, their eyes almost searching for a deeper understanding of what they both seem to be walking the edges of. The lingering touch of Stiles’ hand on Derek’s almost seems to charge the air, tugging Stiles subtly closer in attempt to satiate some incomprehensible need. He notices that Derek’s gaze flicks between his own and a space somewhere farther down his face; the way his lips have parted almost gracefully leave Stiles’ own mouth feeling dry and hungry. How they’re both leaning into each other's space, fixated on a desire that Stiles is sure neither of them want to ignore anymore.

Cognizance jolts Stiles, pulling him from whatever compelling intent that had enslaved him; eyes widening before he stalls his motion. Derek must sense the abrupt change as he stops too, looking away with a jerk. Stiles swallows heavily, all-too aware of the uncomfortable aura that has gripped them. Licking his lips, he searches for a deviation.

“So...about that other beer?” He asks. Derek gets up, a little too quickly, and heads to the kitchen. Stiles lets a small smile creep onto his lips, because, yeah. Derek and him totally had a moment. He looks to the ground and notices his phone. Getting up from his perch on the couch, he braces himself on the coffee table, and bends down in what would almost be an obscene manner. While he he's gripping the phone, he hears the sound of glass crashing. Still bent, he look back towards the kitchen to see Derek staring at him, visage contorted in shock. Stiles, taking a moment to understand the situation, follows Derek’s gaze to his ass that he realizes is practically being presented. It’s then that he notices his pants have sagged slightly, revealing the red underwear he’s still wearing. Everything comes crashing back to him, the whole grindr debacle. The pictures they’ve traded. How Derek, and he quotes, wants to ‘ _tear into that ass_ ’.

His neck and cheeks feel flushed and the well-known feeling of arousal strikes through him like liquid fire. Derek loses his surprised expression in favor of something more defensive, growling a warning.

“Stiles, stop.” He says through gritted teeth, but its too late. Stiles is already thinking about Derek’s tight, black briefs and the huge outline of his cock. The way his large, heavy hands covered his dick but exposed the rest of his body in an unabashed display meant to entice. He should be ashamed by how his mind can so quickly move from the familiarity of a friendship to a starved lust. He swallows again, finally straightening his back. He already knows he’s getting hard but he can’t stop himself-- he’s not sure he wants to, because in that moment he’s feeling more comfortable, more starved, more desperate for Derek than he’s ever been.  

That’s when a brilliant plan jolts him.

Stiles licks his lips, thinking about how, despite the fucked up situation they’ve stumbled in, he can still come to a clear consensus on his sexuality. Derek’s jaw clenches, his eyes flare red momentarily at the sight of Stiles wetting his mouth. All the while, Stiles begins to piece together that he’s influencing Derek’s state of distress. That just the simple act of presenting himself has someone so controlled like Derek in a near-sexual frenzy. It makes him feel powerful, to have such sway over someone so dangerous. He turns to face Derek, whose nostrils are flaring in way that seem conflicted on whether they want to inhale deep, or stunt his breath altogether. 

Stiles decides he’s going to put his plan into action.

“I have an idea...” Stiles says, slowly walking towards the kitchen. Derek tenses, doting a menacing scowl, as if he knows what Stiles’ intentions are; knows the lascivity of his thoughts. That only seems to fill Stiles with a more stimulating incentive.

“How about... _you_ fuck me?” And at that, Derek’s mouth drops open. Stiles’ blunt invitation hadn’t been expected, by the way Derek has abandoned his unyielding expression. But Stiles is feeling confident and horny and now that he’s looking at Derek, still shirtless and becoming more disheveled by the second, he’s got to admit...sleeping with Derek is an incredible idea. Derek clenches his jaw and takes a step back.  

“What the hell are you talking about?” He asks almost angrily. Stiles’ approach doesn’t falter, taking small steps, almost swaying his hips in a salacious manner. Derek takes notice and turns his face away.

“You told me it took one time to figure it out, right? Well...I need to know Derek. I need to know if I’m into this. Besides, would you rather me experiement with someone I know? Or find some random dude on Grindr?” That steals Derek’s attention, his gaze intense and unforgiving; practically asserting an unspoken claim. The look he all but stabs into Stiles almost seems to convey that the thought of anyone else touching him is treacherous. That the mere entertainment of the idea warrants punishment.

“No.” Derek replies gruffly. Stiles smirks, knowingly. 

“Then let’s do it? I trust you...” He says. Those words makes Derek falter for a moment, once again looking like he’s retracting into his mind. He abruptly raises a hand, stalling Stiles’ approach, who immediately stops. Taking in the sight of the dangerously sharp points of Derek’s... _claws_ , his brain rushes with hesitancy. For a second, he thinks that he’s been reading Derek all wrong. That he really doesn’t want to have anything to do with Stiles, and would rather just forget about any of this. But that train of thought leaks into a time when when Scott had told him about how difficult it was to control the shift when presented with extreme lust. The insinuation that, once again, Stiles effects Derek in such a way, makes him bold. Fills his chest with a burning satisfaction and desire.

“Fine.” Derek finally says. “But I’m not holding back, Stiles. This might not be enjoyable for you.” Stiles smirks, looking dangerous in his own right, before closing the distance between them. He trails his hands up Derek’s chest, confident and suggestive, snaking them up to rest around his neck.

“Good thing I want it rough, then, huh?” He says, as his entire body exudes an overbearing musk of titillating want, sex, and _temptation_.  

Derek growls, low and ferocious, while gripping Stiles’ hips. He crashes their mouths together; kissing Stiles with a fervent hunger, sliding his tongue on the brim of Stiles’ mouth. He bites at Stiles’ bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and tugging it which makes Stiles’ body buzz with an unrepressed want. He tightens his grip, pulling them both impossibly closer all the while licking into Stiles’ mouth. Their tongues mingle, dancing at the forefront to a cadence of grunts, moans, and groans. Stiles’ hands move to grip into Derek’s hair, needing to hold on to him in fear of falling out of the sex-crazed plane of existence they seem to be in. Whimpering high and needy, he reciprocates with an endearing enthusiasm, sucking on Derek’s tongue; sliding his teeth on the wet muscle as Derek retracts it and bites down on Stiles’ lip again. Only this time, it’s borderline painful, but the pleasure it sends down his spine makes him shudder and cry out in a sound that can only be described as mewling.

Before he knows it, Derek is lifting his legs, hoisting Stiles up and around his waist. Stiles immediately and instinctively locks them around Derek's body before his back meets the kitchen wall. The impact has him gasping out in surprise, breaking the kiss and moving his face up.

“You never could resist throwing me up again walls, could you?” Stiles says hoarsely, his voice already feeling hard to use; body and mind humming with lust. Derek only makes that low, rumbling noise, deep in his throat before he assaults the flesh of Stiles’ neck. 

“ _Oh fuck_ \--” Stiles whimpers while Derek’s nips and sucks on the curve of his neck. It’s almost a science, how he bites at Stiles’ skin, before he sucks and licks. Then he moves lower to repeat, and repeat, and--

Stiles needs to be naked. He needs Derek to be naked. They need to be naked together and despite how hot it would be to get fucked into a wall, he really wants to be on a bed for his first time.

“Hey-- _Uhnn_ \-- Derek, _oh fuck_. Derek, _please_ \-- Bed. The bed.” Stiles says breathlessly. Derek bites down hard on Stiles’ collarbone, eliciting a wanton moan, so filthy and needy it only proves to drive Derek further into a frenzy. The next thing he knows, Derek’s mouth is on his again, devouring in its wake; kissing him with a savage brutality that leaves Stiles’ _keening_. He runs his tongue over Derek’s teeth when he suddenly feels them. Long, pointed and sharp. Derek’s fangs. Deep in his mind, he wonders what the appropriate response to this would be, but before he can over analyze, he’s shoving his tongue into the sharpest point of Derek’s protruded canines, licking at them with a sick fascination. Derek growls.

He’s only half aware that he’s being carried farther into the apartment. The sound of the bedroom door slamming echoes throughout the room. Then, Stiles is being thrown onto a plush mattress. Collecting himself, he looks up, taking in the sight of Derek standing above him. His mouth, open and panting, shows that his fangs are indeed there. His ears are long and pointed; animalistic. The hands to his sides show claws, sharp and lethal, but most evident are those _eyes_. Bloody scarlet and glowing in a constant promise of rage and untamed savagery.

It’s in that moment Stiles thinks that perhaps he’s damaged. To crave someone that could easily rip you apart and literally _eat_ you. That definitely can’t be healthy desire. But try as he might, looking up at Derek, that’s all he can see. Not the Alpha Werewolf who has a bloodlust that could fill a whole pool with bodies, but a man that he just recently realized he trusts a lot more than he had let himself believe. All he sees is Derek Hale, a man who lost his family and is just trying to do his best to fix a mess he feels responsible for. That, despite the whole ‘ _stoic-badass-I-don’t-give-a-fuck_ ’ routine he has down almost perfectly, Derek cares a lot about the people around him and he’s sort of a great guy.

“Are you sure about this?” Derek asks, his voice low; more animal than human. Stiles smiles, privately and genuinely, the epiphany that he really wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now is startling, but absolute.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m sure.”


End file.
